


Decimate My Inhibitions

by Deepdarkwaters



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 19:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepdarkwaters/pseuds/Deepdarkwaters
Summary: He saunters into the lift, pockets full of diamonds from the jewellery counter (and a new pair of winged Adidas trainers on his feet, because why not), and is just pushing the button for the underground level to make his escape when a panel in the ceiling opens up and a tall man wearing a beautiful pinstripe suit jumps down.Eggsy emits a piercing shriek of terror that haunts him at night for years to follow."Good evening," the man says mildly, like they're strangers who just happened to catch one another's eye in the street. He stretches up—it's higher than Eggsy could reach, even on tiptoe—and snags the edge of the panel with his fingertips, pulling it over to cover the hole he just came through. "You're not supposed to be here.""Neither are you!" Eggsy yelps.





	Decimate My Inhibitions

**Author's Note:**

> I got this anon tumblr prompt forever ago: "Harry and Eggsy stuck somewhere for whatever reason (in a lift, a hostage situation...) and 10 hours in they decide to get married. Stranger to husbands. Even better if Eggsy understands Harry's not just a tailor but doesn't care."
> 
> Title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xe7d7141m4Y).

So, it turns out robbing a massive expensive department store is not actually as easy as it looks in the films _unless_ you're willing to go for the long con.

_"Got a job," Eggsy said casually the day he got home from the interview, flinging himself on his front across the full length of the sofa and pulling monstrous faces at Daisy in her playpen to make her laugh._

_"Oh, babe!" his mum said from the kitchen area. Her face always lit up like a movie star when she was happy, which happened so rarely these days that he'd forgotten how lovely it made her look. "Good for you! Where at?"_

_"Marleigh's. Just like picking and packing in the back," he added, sensing she was about to start teasing him about getting fancy ideas. "Had to flirt my arse off with the old boy interviewing me even just for that, they was after people with degrees! Just to push a fucking trolley around! But, well, you wear a shirt a size too tight and bat your eyelashes, sometimes it opens doors for ya."_

_"Yeah, tell me about it," she said wryly. "How do you think I got my pub shift? Weren't my brains, let's be honest." Her smile suddenly looked strained, and she turned away from him to get back to stirring the pan of spaghetti hoops. "Well, never mind that. I'm pleased for you, babe, you deserve a break."_

_So do you, he wanted to say, and so does Daisy, and I'm gonna make sure you get one if it fucking kills me_.

A year and two months later— _payday_ —he's just thinking how nice it is when a well-laid plan finally comes together as beautifully as intended, when the whole thing goes a bit tits up. Of course it does. The idea that he might actually get a break is obviously fucking laughable and not a thing that's ever ever going to happen ever in this universe, ever.

He saunters into the lift, pockets full of diamonds from the jewellery counter (and a new pair of winged Adidas trainers on his feet, because why not), and is just pushing the button for the underground level to make his escape when a panel in the ceiling opens up and a tall man wearing a beautiful pinstripe suit jumps down.

Eggsy emits a piercing shriek of terror that haunts him at night for years to follow.

"Good evening," the man says mildly, like they're strangers who just happened to catch one another's eye in the street. He stretches up—it's higher than Eggsy could reach, even on tiptoe—and snags the edge of the panel with his fingertips, pulling it over to cover the hole he just came through. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Neither are you!" Eggsy yelps, still several notes too shrill for his own liking. He's backed himself right into the corner where the buttons are, fight or flight senses buzzing like a pair of road drills even though, one, there's nowhere to go, and two, he can't punch an old bespectacled man, not even one who's just been lurking around a lift shaft at almost midnight.

"Could you press the ground floor button for me, please?"

Everything feels like a fucking nightmare. "What?"

"The ground floor," the man repeats pleasantly, half-lifting his umbrella to gesture at the buttons panel with the tip. _His umbrella, what the actual fuck? It's July? He was just in the lift shaft? He's holding a briefcase too? WHAT?_ "If you please."

"Oh, right. Yeah."

"Much obliged," the man says, giving him a bland smile.

For the longest five seconds of all time, there's silence. The man is swinging his umbrella lightly, watching the floor numbers light up above the door. Eggsy's still pressed back against the corner, one hand slick with sweat against the cool mirrored wall and the other clutching tight around the heap of jewellery weighing his pocket down. A strobe flash of thoughts flickers wildly through his brain— _is he security fucking with me or is he robbing the place too or is he a customer who got locked in by accident or is he a killer mannequin like in Doctor Who or am I going actually full fat fucking crazy at last?_

Then the lift gives an alarming shudder, a hideous screech, and stops.

The lights go out.

"Ah," the man says, a ridiculous tinge of weariness in his voice like this happens all the time. Maybe it fucking does for him. Maybe he's the Lift Curser, making a special guest appearance for one night only to ruin Eggsy's entire life. "Are you claustrophobic?"

"What?" Eggsy says again, trying to swallow his rising disbelief.

"Afraid of enclosed spaces."

"I know what it fucking means!"

With an electronic hum, the lights come back on. The man is still standing in the middle of the lift, and he gives Eggsy a kindly sort of smile. "Lights, at least. I'm sure you weren't relishing the idea of being stuck in a lift with a stranger in the dark. Now you're merely stuck in a lift with a stranger."

"So are you," Eggsy says stupidly, staring at him. Then he realises what they're saying and swears viciously, kicking the back of his newly-liberated left trainer hard against the mahogany panelled wall in something fairly close to a tantrum. "How can we be _fucking stuck_ in a _bastard lift_?"

"Dodgy electronics, I expect," the man says. He's blinking innocently behind his glasses, keeping his face blank in a way that makes Eggsy absolutely fucking certain that he's being infuriating on purpose, like this is all some kind of massive joke and not a full on disaster that's going to see Eggsy banged up for years if he can't figure something out. "I don't suppose there's a telephone or intercom button over there?"

Eggsy glances at the call button. "Yeah, but there ain't gonna be anyone there to answer it."

Very slightly, bird-like, the man cocks his head to the side. "How do you know?"

"Cos nobody's meant to be here in the middle of the night? They're not gonna pay some mug to sit there waiting for an SOS from empty lifts, they ain't even got the decency to pay their staff the living wage as it is."

"Disgraceful," the man agrees politely. For one horrified moment Eggsy thinks he sees the man's eyes flick to his pocket full of diamonds, but then they continue on down to his trainers. "Hermes."

"You what?"

"The Greek messenger god. He wore winged sandals, made by Hephaestus, and—"

"Yeah, well, these are made by Jeremy Scott, mate."

"I see."

Another silence.

"Yours are nice too," Eggsy says, because the silence is killing him. Not that his attempt to break it is any better, Jesus fucking Christ. "Your shoes."

"Well, thank you very much."

"Very, er, shiny."

"Yes, I shine them diligently." The man's definitely fucking laughing now, it's there in his eyes though it's not spread to his mouth. He's enjoying himself somehow, the mad bastard, just standing there in his suit and shiny shoes like some catalogue model and letting Eggsy talk himself into an early grave that has 'DICKHEAD' carved deep into the tombstone.

"Well, I'm just gonna shut up now."

"That's probably wise. Why waste all the conversation at once? It's"—the man checks his (absurdly expensive-looking) watch—"ten minutes past eleven. If the shop opens again at ten, I expect people will start arriving an hour or so before. That gives us ten hours to get acquainted before we can start banging on the walls."

* * *


End file.
